A Simple Tale of La Familia
by Mistress Jack
Summary: Concerning the beginnings of the Handy Manny family. Someone is sending Manny messages that make him angry. And really scared. Could he lose his beloved tools? Rated T for later coming chapters.
1. Creating A Life

The sun was still a good distance below the horizon, but a careful observer would see the lightening in the east. Down a street, still quiet and dark with sleep, the bright colors of a sign smiled, as if trying to awaken the air itself. Inside, as dark as the street outside, but a few comfortable degrees warmer, a single twin bed creaked against its occupant, as he shifted and sighed. His eyes slid open, though he continued to lay silently, staring at the ceiling.

His first thought of the day swirled in misty and heavy with dream. He thought of the ceiling above his bed the first day they moved in. Back then, it was only Turner, Rusty, Stretch, and a very young Dusty. Before he had even opened the shop, he had had to fix up the apartment above. He hated the long, hour drive from Matte Mesa where he lived. Waking before the sun rose, every day, even Saturday, (a habit he still could not break) and driving all the way to Sheetrock Springs in an old truck that complained before it hit 50 miles an hour. The temperature was often still cold from the night. But, the worst part was leaving the tools. He wanted more than anything to bring them with him. But, even though their very purpose in life was to fix that which was broken, the new shop he had spent his life savings on was too dangerous. It was condemned. That was the only reason he could afford it.

Now, in an apartment that could never be mistaken for the wreck it had once been, Manny rolled out of bed and slipped into his pants. He looked to his digital clock. It was blinking, displaying 4:37 PM. He shook his head. It may have been the fuses. Even in the three years he had worked furiously night and day, he hadn't worked out all the bugs. He sighed and stretched until an involuntary groan rolled out of his chest. As he walked to the window, he reach down below his old truck which held all his important papers and photographs. In a deep overlap of the bottom, sat hidden pack of Camel cigarettes. He only smoked one or two a day. Only when the tools were tucked in tight and cozy. He grabbed his desk chair and sat it square with the window, sliding it open. He lit the cigarette and watched the sky warm and pale.

A smile slowly broke through the sleep on his face as the swirling images of himself and Mr. Lopart fighting a toolbox up the stairs. It had only taken about eight months to get the building to the point that the inspector would deem it structurally sound. It had been a grueling, bloody eight months that saw him leave before his sister (who's tiny new family he shared his meager apartment with) had even woken to make breakfast for her infant son and the tools. An eight months that saw him breaking two fingers, receiving one concussion, and crawling home every night, exhausted and much too tired to eat a sparse plate of cold dinner his sister would leave in the oven, long after the tools were asleep. He remembered the day the inspector had handed him his slip of paper.

"You pass, Mr. Garcia. Good luck with those tools. Very good thing you're doing." the inspector extended his free hand to take Manny's.

"Thank you, Mr. Burton. Now, if I can ask a question." Manny returned the handshake as warmly as he could. His heart was dancing. Soon, his little family would be in a real home.

"Sure." the inspector motioned for Manny to follow him to his truck. After dropping his clipboards and PDA, he popped his glovebox open and removed a pack of cigarettes. "Like one?"

Manny graciously accepted the cigarette and then the lighter. His let his first puff of smoke slowly drift toward the evening sky and turned back to the inspector.

"Does this mean I can start plumbing and wiring the building?"

"Yeah, you're clear to do what you want with it. The zoning laws are pretty loose in Sheetrock Springs. And, I'm pretty sure that shop front would do a lot of business, being in the middle of the street and all. What kind of store you gonna put in?"

"Well, when I bought the place I wasn't sure, but while I was fixing it up, I figured putting in a repair shop would be a great idea. I was working for my uncle, doing construction. It paid well enough, and I was never out of work. But, then I got the tools and, well . . ." Manny trailed off, not knowing exactly how to finish.

"Yeah, I get ya!" the inspector laughed, "I was building bridges when my wife got pregnant. It wasn't long after I found out, I was begging my brother in the state department for a good job. Those were the days."

The phone rang, bursting Manny's reverie. He furrowed his brow in its direction, pondering for a moment of he wanted to take a call this early or not. Another ring and he was across the room in a second, quietly answering with one ear, listening down the hall with the other. He only heard soft snores and a soft mumble. Probably Rusty.

"Hello?" it was too early for company greetings.

"Hey Manny, it's Kelly."

"Well, hello there, Kelly. What's up?"

"You. I saw your light on. I was up, wondering why my alarm was sounding at 4:00 PM, when it's only 5:10 in the morning."

"The power must have gone off last night. My clock is off too." he took his last puff of the cigarette and flipped it out the window. he was going to have to get tin the shower before the tools woke up, hungry and eager to start the day. The others probably wouldn't notice, but Pat and Squeeze's noses were exceptional to say the least.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the beach later. It's suppose to be beautiful today, and I bet the tools need a day off."

"Hmmm. Actually, that sounds great. I was going to celebrate today with them, anyway. Did you know it is the fourth anniversary of the day I adopted the tools? Well, Rusty, Dusty, Turner, Stretch, and Pat, anyway. It's kind of a collective birthday."

"Wow, that's great, Manny. The nice weather worked out great then. Hey, you know, I remember the first day I met you and the tools. I felt so silly when I found out you had been working in that old building for almost a year, and we'd never met." She laughed. Manny smiled at the sound.

"Yeah, I was just sitting here thinking about that." a belated yawn snuck up behind him and attacked.

Kelly's laughter lit up his eardrums again.

"I'll let you go. Call me when you're ready to go. I should be ready by 10 at least."

"OK, Kelly. I'll see you in awhile."

Manny replaced the receiver on the phone and stood smiling at it a moment longer. the first day they had met . . . The memory played at the edges of his mind as he started the shower and slipped under the hot water.

In the dark, under the steaming stream of water, he remembered something that made him really smile. The relief he had felt that day. The crushing weight of worry that had lifted from him when he heard Pat's enthusiastic chatter to the infant Dusty raise.

"We're each gonna have our own drawer in the toolbox, and a big bathtub, and a real table to eat dinner on, and, and -" his excited rambling was cut short by Rusty's nervous question.

"Manny, does that mean we have to sleep in the room all by ourselves?" His puppy dog eyes stared up at Manny.

"Don't worry Rusty. I built your bathroom so that the light will shine in so you can see. But not enough to keep you awake." he turned to Turner and winked. The tool's sour expression seemed to crinkle a bit with a silent grin.

Manny watched the moving truck motor slowly toward their new street. He had not been able to keep from smiling since the moment he had opened his eyes that morning. He had finished the building three weeks before, and, with his newest friend, Mr. Lopart, had hustled to ready the apartment for the tools' "birthday". The last bit of his savings had gone for new furniture and paint and a three night stay in his new soon to be home. He stayed up until the wee hours, painting, moving furniture, stocking the fridge, writing his new advertisement in the Sheetrock Springs paper, and making the apartment as close to perfect as he could. The morning of their birthday, Manny had returned to his sister's apartment, just before the tool were awake.

His sister answered the door, still wearing her house coat, no doubt having just said goodbye to her husband as he left for his job at the university cattle barn. He was making his way up the ladder in Beef Research so fast, Manny guessed the family wouldn't see two Christmases before he was the head researcher. Or whoever it was that ran his department.

Manny's sister motioned him to the kitchen, where Manny could smell bacon, eggs, toast, and good hot coffee. He poured a cup and sat down at the table. He felt tired from the night before, too tired for the hour. But, his excitement rose high above the exhaustion. He felt like a kid waiting for his parents to wake up for the first day of a vacation.

"Hermano." she sat down with her own cup of coffee." Que bueno. The tools have missed you so much. Especially Dusty. Last night, I couldn't hardly get her to settle down. It seems like the moment I got Pepe to sleep, she would start up, and when she was finally done, Pepe would wake up and get mad about the noise. It went back and forth like that for almost three hours. If it wasn't for Turner, I don't know what I would have done." She sat down.

Manny's face fell for the first time that morning.

"I'm so sorry, Lola. I know it's been hard on you. You don't know how much I appreciate your help."

He slipped his hand into his jacket and sat his tiny bundle on the table in front of her. It was two hundred dollars, His last two hundred dollars. She had never asked him for money, though she cared for the tools every day like they were her own. He had always paid her what little he could and always bought the groceries for everyone, no matter the cost.

She smiled.

"No, Manny. Toma lo. You need it more than I do. You don't know how long it will be before you get steady jobs."

He wanted to tell her to take it, that he didn't need it. But, all he could manage was to stare at his coffee. Lola placed the money back in his hand, and clasp her hand over his.

"I am really proud of you Manny."

She smiled at him. he returned a smile, whole heartedly.

"Now, go take a shower, before the tools wake up. You smell like smoke."

He laughed as she crinkled her nose.

He stepped out of his shower and flipped on the lights. The breeze from his window was warm, so he removed his towel, ran it through his hair, and decided to air dry, while he brushed his teeth and shaved. He combed his hair and began a mental list of things he would need for the beach. Towels, the beach ball, the toys, Rusty's special floatie, extra juice for Squeeze. She would run around with Fixit until she nearly dropped. Apart of him was glad the tools actually needed to eat. He hated the thought of eating tiny, quick meals, alone at the table, til the end of his days.

He walked into his bedroom, closed the window, and pulled the blinds down, making sure to tie his towel tight around his waist, in case a curious set of eyes were staring in on him. He put on his fresh clothes, his favorite hat, and a new pair of boots. As quietly as possible, he opened his door and tiptoed down the hall, passed the tools' room, and into the tiny but respectable kitchen. He had painted his kitchen the same color of the kitchen of his childhood. His mother's kitchen. As he entered the kitchen, he picked up the receiver and dialed. The phone rang twice and then,

"Hello."

"Good morning, Mr. Lopart."

"Oh, hello, Manny. What can i do for you today?"

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Oh, sure, Manny! What'd you need?"

'Do you remember when I told you yesterday about the tools' birthday?"

"Huh? Oh yes . . . Oh yes! You wanted me to decorate and buy a cake and such."

"Yes, Mr. Lopart. Do you still have a key?"

"Oh, yes, Manny . . . I have it right-Hey, Fluffy! Bring that back here.'

Manny laughed and said goodbye to the constantly distracted Leonard Lopart. Manny turned to the kitchen and stretched again.

The bright pale yellow and milky blue caught the light perfectly and made the kitchen seem much bigger than it really was. He opened the refrigerator, hoping for inspiration. Suddenly, the smell of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee wafted through his memories and his decision was made. He fried the bacon and made a plate of jellied toast. After he set the coffee on, he snuck back up the stairs. In front of the tools' bedroom door, he took a deep breath and silently opened the door. He walked as slowly as possible towards the big tool box in the corner. In the top drawer, he gently lowered his hand in, slid it under the tool and returned to the hall way. Turner squinted against the light, allowing Manny to walk him down stairs and place him on the couch.

"Good morning, Manny."

"Good morning, Turner. What kind of eggs do you want?"

"Squeeze likes scrambled eggs and cheese." Turner mumbled, half falling back to sleep..

Manny smiled down at him and walked back to the tools' room. By now the sun was creeping up the horizon, morning had now hit the point of no return. He walked in and lifted the blinds on the two big back windows. Felipe groaned and Stretch yawned, sticking out a least half a foot of tape. Dusty sat up and bent her blade back and forth, stretching. The haunting, musical sound stirred both Pat and Rusty forth from their dreams and made Squeeze giggle.

"Good morning, tools. I'm making scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast."

"With cheese?!" Squeeze began to bounce with excitement.

"Yes, Squeeze, with cheese." Manny chuckled.

He followed a bouncing, cheering Squeeze, careful not to trip on any of his beloved tools.

He walked down the stairs and began to make fresh scramble eggs with cheese. The bustle of the tools hummed the brightening kitchen to life. A tiny tick-tick across the floor told him Turner had joined the rest of the tools. He was glad. Turner like to wake up alone. He was a bit of a meanie when he had to wake up to the noise and motion of his adopted brothers and sisters. Then, again, he had a bit of a mean streak all the time. Or at least, he pretended to.

Breakfast was, as always, an event. Pat and Dusty played music until even Turner was laughing and Felipe played 20 Questions with a slowly frustrating Stretch. Manny cleared the table. While he washed the dishes, he listened to the tools in the tiny livingroom.

"I want to watch Looney Tunes!" chirped Squeeze.

"I want to watch Slam the Super hammer!" Pat yelled.

The tools fell to squabbling about the channel. Soon, Dusty could be heard over everyone.

"Let's vote! Come on, everybody, calm down,"

"Tools! Take a vote on the channel. It's only fair."

The noise level lowered. He could hear Turner grumbling, probably counting votes. Manny drained the last of his coffee and walked into the livingroom and sat down to watch the last of Looney Tunes.

"I have a surprise for you guys today. We are going to the beach with Kelly. Happy birthday!"

The tools all gasped and began to dance around. Manny laughed. He rose to go and pack their bag while the tools continued to celebrate wildly in the livingroom.


	2. How Quickly Can Things Go Wrong?

Manny closed the door of the tools' room slowly until it clicked softly. A big yawn escaped his chest with a huge, tired grin on its tail. He slowly descended the stairs, wondering if he could convince Mr. Lopart to stay a minute or two. He really did enjoy to older man's company. He turned the corner into the kitchen. Kelly held a giant trash bag and giggled as Mr. Lopart tried to coax his hand from a ball of tape and streamers.

"Are you alright, Leonard? Can I he-" Manny began. But, at that moment, the ball of trash decided to release the old man, causing him to stumble backwards, nearly sitting on his own cat. Fluffy skittered comically on the linoleum and climbed onto the refrigerator, eyeing Leonard closely.

"I'm fine, Manny, don't you worry." he smiled as Manny helped him to his feet.

"Manny?" Kelly turned to him.

"Yes, Kelly?" he smiled.

"You wouldn't want to get a drink with me, would you? I'm sure Leonard could watch the shop for a few minutes. Right, Leonard?"

"Of course, Kelly. You two go have a drink. If you don't mind Manny, I'll just watch my show on your big ole TV."

For a moment, Manny felt a deep, black sense of foreboding. But, it passed as easily as a wave.

"Sure, Leonard. Let me just go upstairs and change my shirt and I'll meet you downstairs, Kelly."

Manny locked the shop door and turned to Kelly. He smiled and slipped his hand into hers. They walked slowly down the street, passing under the streetlights. The night had settled in nicely, warm and breezy. Kelly took in a deep breath and sighed contentedly. Manny watched her face as they passed under the last light in front of the bar. He was as struck by her beauty now as he was two years ago. He pulled the door open to Cartone's Bar.

"Ladies first." he gave a tiny comically serious bow.

Kelly's face glowed with mirth. She put her pretty nose in the air and walked in the bar with all the regality of a queen. She passed in front of him, smelling of perfume, sawdust, and sea water. For only a moment, he closed his eyes and focused on her scent. It was so clean and soft. He entered the bar and waved at Mario, the barkeep. He followed Kelly to the tables along the back wall of the bar. The air was smoky and a little thick. As they walked toward Kelly's favorite booth, the one with the window that had the long view of the highway toward the sea, he waved at Mr. Chu and Senor Lopez. The mayor, Rosa, sat, giggling like a little school girl with Mrs. Portillo. He didn't catch the joke, but the laugh felt infectious. He smiled again.

They sat at the booth and the waitress, Penelope, materialized beside Manny.

"Howdy folks! What can I get you this fine evening?"

"Just two beers, Penny." Kelly smiled and handed her a twenty.

"And an ashtray." Manny said.

Kelly raised a brow at him.

"You smoke?"

"Yes. It doesn't bother you, does it?" he asked. He suddenly felt nervous.

"No. I used to smoke. Elliot, too." she smiled.

He looked into her eyes. Beautiful.

"I'm glad. I know it's bad for me, but, you know how it is . . ."

She nodded. Penelope appeared once again and handed them both an icy cold beer and winked at Manny as she handed him a small glass ashtray.

"You know, Manny. I think the jukebox has a few nice songs on it. If I am not mistaken, 84B is Kelly's favorite."

"Is that right? Well, Penny, would you mind playing it for us?" He handed her a five dollar bill. "Keep the change."

Penelope winked at them both again and was gone.

Manny shot a sly grin at Kelly.

"I think Penny likes you."

Kelly made a face at him.

"Of course she does. We went to high school together. She's always had a crush on me." she smiled at Penelope, who was refreshing Mayor Rosa and Mrs. Portillo's drinks. She was obviously flirting with the mayor, who was more than enjoying the attention.

Manny and Kelly laughed. A few moments of companionable silence passed between them. Manny lit a cigarette and watched the smoke swirl and play with the edge of Kelly's hair. At that moment, he was glad to just be with her. Of all the incredible and friendly residents, she was the one he felt closest to. And of all the women he had known in his lifetime, she was the warmest, the most intelligent.

"I think the tools had a really good time today, Manny."

"Me too, Kelly."

"Yeah, I think even Turner had a good time. Except when Squeeze got out into the water. He looked really upset." Kelly's surprise made Manny laugh. He thought about the fit Turner threw as Squeeze teased the surf.

"He's a little harsh sometimes, but it's only because he cares."

"Well, I don't want to insult you, Manny. But, Turner just seems a little . . ." She searched for the word. She knew several, but they all had the potential to make Manny very mad. She left the thought dangling in the air.

"Seems a little what?"

"Mean? Well, harsh, is maybe a better word, like you said. It just seems a little strange. You guys are always so nice and cheery. And Turner . . . well, he . . ." Kelly shook her head when she realized she had back herself into a corner. "I'm not trying to say anything bad about him."

"It's alright, Kelly. Turner is a little mean. But, he has his reasons. He's the oldest, you know. He really sees himself as the one responsible for the others. He's the big brother."

"Like you." Kelly smiled.

"I suppose. You know, he may have been a little different, if he hadn't had to take care of the others for so long alone."

"Alone? When have you ever left them alone?"

Manny felt his jaw wire itself shut. He felt a sudden flash of anger at her for making him say too much. But, it evaporated. It had been completely his fault.

"I . . . I meant before I found them."

For a moment, she looked confused. She was thinking, he knew the look, but her eyes were studying his. He felt a nervousness in his guts and a heat in his brain. He suddenly felt as if he were sitting in a police station, being interrogated for something awful. Again.

Only this time, the cop was a gorgeous angel that he could never quite keep his tongue still around.

"Oh." was all she said.

They sat, looking into each others eyes. Penelope looked across the bar and felt a very real stab of jealousy. If only she knew the subject of their intense little chat.

"Well, that got a little serious, Manny. I didn't mean to make you . . . angry?" Kelly broke the silence. She slid her hand across the table and into Manny's damp palm. He felt the electricity of her touch and could not help but smile.

"I'm not angry! I was just thinking. You know it has only been over three years since I found the tools. It's . . . just a really long story." he sighed resignedly.

"You'll have to tell me sometime."

"Some day, sure." and for the first time since he had looked into the face of a little wet screwdriver three years ago, he meant it.

It had taken a bit longer than he had thought. They must have been in the bar for an hour or more. Manny was positive that Mr. Lopart wouldn't be angry, but he also knew it was time that Fluffy got home and got fed. Kelly stayed back a moment to talk to Mario. Manny stood outside the door to wait on her. The night was getting lower, thicker. He thought he could smell rain, far, far off in the east wind. He relished the thought of spending a sleepy Saturday under the sound of rain on the roof. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Yes, definitely rain. He smiled at the idea of hot cocoa and laying on the couch surrounded by his tools. For a moment, a stored thought of some sort of "raincoat" for Fixit rolled around. Maybe some type of umbrella that could be screwed on his back. Or even a angled sheet of metal or plastic like a roof on a house.

"Hmmm." he thought, letting out his long breath.

He could hear the stirring of the street sweeper, still several blocks away. He opened his eyes and frowned. Did he detect a whine? Something high pitched in the swoosh of the sweeper. He frowned harder as the whine became louder. It sounded almost like a bad bearing. But not quite. Her strained to hear. It was definitely something out of whack. It seemed to undulate, to rise and fall at intervals as the sweeper came closer and the sound got louder. Suddenly, his mind pulled the two sounds apart, like stuck together pages in an old book. It wasn't a whine. It was a siren.

A police siren? he strained to hear over the street sweeper, wishing for the life of him that the sweeper would stop only a moment so he could hear.

Kelly walked out of the bar, calling good-nights and well wishes behind her. She looked at Manny's face and froze.

"Is something wrong, Manny?"

"Shh. Hold on just a second, Kelly."

She stopped and looked in the general direction that Manny was frowning at. As the bar door closed, sealing in the sounds of warmth and merry making, the night suddenly filled with the whining siren. Kelly turned to Manny, who's face was becoming as dark as the night around him.

"At this hour? In Sheetrock Springs?" she whispered. Manny frowned and took her hand. He wanted to get her indoors suddenly. They walked off at a quick pace, hand in hand, still listening to the siren grow closer. Kelly felt dread spreading through her insides.

Suddenly, the sound of the sweeper stopped. The siren finally took over. Manny stopped beside her, his face so white, she would have thought him suddenly dead of a heart attack had it not been for the tight grip he had on her hand.

Manny heard the sweeper stop and power down. In that instant, his mind pulled apart to more sounds and he knew exactly what was happening. The first siren was a police cruiser, tearing down the main streets as fast as they could. The second was the sound of his burglar alarm. Someone had broken into his shop. That very instant, he took off sprinting, his healthy, young body pumping madly. Kelly stood shocked for a moment before running after him. As she rounded the corner to their street, Kelly saw why the street sweeper had stopped. The operator now stood in front of his colossal machine, holding what looked like a large, wet mop head. Perhaps, a sweeper head had broken off. How lucky that he would have broken down directly in front of Manny's shop.

Kelly arrived in front of the shop as Manny was sliding through the busted glass on his front door. She turned to the sweeper's operator and felt her heart fall into her shoe. The broken mop head that the operator held was not a mop head at all. It was a shivering, mewling Fluffy.

"He shot out in front of me. I don't think he's injured, but he's sure scared of something. I tried to holler up into the shop, but as soon as I got close to the door, he started throwing a fit. I think my arm is bleeding."

Kelly peeled Fluffy from the man's arms. She could now hear Manny yelling the names of the tools and the loud crashing of doors and things she couldn't identify. She felt her heart skip several beats.

Please, God, don't have let anything happen to them. She felt tears beginning to thicken in her throat. And where was Leonard?


	3. Turner's Dream

The rain beat down on Turner. He was sure the road was too close. But, Dusty was so young. She was weeping and tired. He turned to Rusty and Stretch.

"We can stop in this culvert."

They piled into the culvert. A high bit of mud was the only refugee from the rushing rain water and the wind.

"I'm gonna take a look." Rusty nodded and winced as the lightning cracked over head.

He dug deep into the slick mud, climbing toward the dark road. He reached the top and was greeted with the sight of the shopfront across the street. The rain and wind was gone, but the cold still clung to his wet, muddy metal. A dark figure stood out front, trying to unlock the front door.

"Manny!" he yelled. He began to hop toward him, needing to tell him that the others were in the culvert. That they needed him. But, more importantly, that the others were coming.

The dark figure turned. Turner saw his face and stopped in the middle of the the street. The face that was turned in his direction, the eyes that searched the street around him was not Manuel Garcia. Turner screamed.

He woke standing in the middle of the floor. His heart pounded, his breath was ragged. As if he had just ran a mile. Or been strangled.

He looked up to the sleeping tools.

"Get up."

His voice sounded choked, weak. He took a deep breath.

"Wake up!"

Rusty was standing blinking before the others, but only Pat remained asleep.

"Get up! We have to get up! We have to hide!"

"Wha- What are you talking 'bout?" mumbled a half sleeping Squeeze.

"No time! Get up. Everybody follow me! Right now!"

Perhaps it was his urgency, or the fact that it was hard to resist when still half dazed and groggy with dream, but the others followed him into the bathroom. He popped the door open in the closet. He motioned all the tools into the towel shelf and crowded them to the back. He then shut the door and turned to them.

"What is going on, Turner?" Stretch asked.

"I - I don't know. I was asleep and I had this dream. And I think he's back."

"Manny? Why are we hiding from Manny?" Pat made for the door. The others began to follow him, mumbling in protest. Only Rusty stayed. The fear on his face was as plain as a written message.

Suddenly, from downstairs, they heard Mr. Lopart yell and then a thud followed by another louder thud. They held their breaths. Silence.

"What was that?" Dusty whispered fearfully.

"It was him." Turner hopped silently to the next shelf up.

"Who?" Squeeze turned to him.

He turned to her and whispered.

The man in the brown jacket heard what he thought was a cry or yelp. It sounded like the pliers.

He bounded up the kitchen steps, bursting light bulbs as he went. He hit the tools' room and looked about. the bathroom. He enter and saw the empty bathtub and closet door. He reach for it and jerked it open.


	4. A Cry In The Night

Leonard leaned into the couch and sighed heavily. Old age was not supposed to come in your late thirties, he was sure of it. But none the less it had began to make fuzzy little appearances in his life. An ache in the morning around his back, hips, and knees. A subtle stiffness before the rain in his hands and his knees. After a long day of hard work, all his bones, especially his knees, felt like stressed iron bars grinding and cracking together.

If he had been at home , he could have been soaking in a hot bath with scented oils that made him feel as if his mind was full of air. Of the few things he had ever allowed Manny to actually assist him, hanging the TV on his bathroom wall had been especially important. And Manny and the tools had done a splendid job. They had even built a little shelf for a pillow that Fluffy could perch on, away from the offending water. Watching his stories in the tub was one of the real pleasures in his life.

But the blasted little sweetheart Kelly had roped him into it. After, Leonard suggested that it was such a ice night, a night to go out for a drink and a little idle chatter. The blank, faintly contented look on his face belied the smile bursting to pop through his lips. He watched the gears in her brain working. After a sigh, and a well concealed chuckle into his sleeve, he had agreed to watch the tools. Sometimes real life was a little more interesting than his stories. Not often, though.

Manny's little upstairs apartment looked very different in the light of a TV screen than it had when he first started. That first week, Leonard had been letting Fluffy get a little early morning air when she bounded into the condemned building next door. He cursed the cat and the dolt who left the door on a condemned building open and ran often Fluffy. There he had been greeted with the slightly startled but overwhelmingly friendly face (that was maybe a bit tired around the eyes).

"I think this little guy belongs to you." Leonard instantly adored his soft accent.

"Oh, Doctor! Will she ever wake up?" the woman on TV cried, her unresponsive daughter laying in front of her.

"I love this show, Fluffy. Don't you?" a soft meow answered behind his right ear. Fluffly's big tail, his namesake, curled around Leonard's neck.

Suddenly, Fluffy gave an almost gulping yelp and leapt from the back of the couch. Leonard sat up, barely on the edge of the couch. He thought he had heard something else. A cry from the tools' room. Or a shout. He was standing, his knees cracking in protest. He started toward the kitchen, but a sound from downstairs stopped him. It sounded like a key in the lock. A loud key. He turned toward the stairs.

They can't be that drunk can they? He pondered. It sounds like they are trying to break in.

As if to answer his thoughts, the crash of glass, followed by the screaming of the burglar alarm. His confusion was now absolute. But, it cracked and shifted like ice on a river and he leapt toward the tiny lowered landing of stairs. He was going to throw open that door and holler as loud as he could. Maybe that would perturb a cheeky bandit if the alarm had not slowed him.

But, he was tragically late, arriving at the top of the stairs as the intruder, a man in a brown coat and a strange fedora like hat slammed it open. The gun was out and exploding before Leonard Lopart could even give a strangled yell. He hit the ground, pain washing over him in electric, alien waves. He pulled for a groaning bit of air, received none and fell back as the brown blur whipped passed him, trodding his tender knees. The light bulb burst.

The last thought to cross Leonard's drowning mind was that criminals could often be mistaken for goodly, upstanding Americans. Perhaps even the nice guy next door. But, the man's face told Mr. Lopart one thing. Aside from the fact that the man had just shot him, he would not have like him one bit on a personal level. He looked like a mean, miserable asshole. Then, Leonard blacked out.

Rusty disliked sleep the same as he disliked anything else. He would remember things when he slept. Only now, they were bigger, filled out in monster parts and overblown power. He tossed and worried in his sleep. He mumbled agonizingly.

Turner's whispered voice brought him to the surface of his panicked nightmares. Rusty's eyes opened and he stood. Turner yelled.

Rusty heard Squeeze's mumbled question, Turner's distracted reply. Was bouncing down the tool box drawers before the others were even moving. He followed Turner into the bathroom closet. The words his siblings were whispering passed as unnoticed as a soft breeze on a dying man's forehead. He was a tool. He was made of metal, thus naturally cool to the touch, but now he felt as if he had been dunked into an bucket of ice water. What was going on didn't matter. He only knew something bad was about to happen. The first foggy words through his fear were,

" . . .And I think he's back."

Rusty had not been scared before. He had only been a little worried. Now, well now, he was soul stopping terrified. A face glared at him through steel bars and electricity flared like fire up and down his metal. The others were leaving him, moving toward Pat. That is when they heard the muffled alarm, the yell, the thud, the second thud. And Rusty thought he had been terrified before . . .


	5. Gone

Manny saw the dark void in the middle of the door long before he saw the shards littering the sidewalk or the silent beast of the sweeper. The operator may have called to him, but he couldn't be sure, as the rushing in his ears was as loud as being caught in a river overflowing with melted winter snow. He reached into the door and grabbed the handle to steady his balance while he ducked in through the hole in the glass. The alarm blasted again and he covered his ears and looked around his shop. It appeared a bomb had exploded at first. Everything that was not nailed down was thrown randomly about, strewn like garbage across the floor and tables. He began making his way was through his wrecked workplace toward the back of the shop toward the stairs. The siren lapsed into silence again, and as he stumbled through and grabbed the stair rail, he slapped the the silent button, nearly falling. His knee barely missed the sharp edge of the first stair, but still cracked painfully on the hard floor. He climbed the stairs, half-crawling, half limping. With his next paniced breath and the harsh rushing ring in his eyes, he yelled for the tools.

"Turner! Squeeze!" he hit the upstairs landing and fell into the door at a limping run. He jerked it back to him the moment he regained his balance and looked up the last bit of stairs into the inky blackness of his living room.

"Dusty! Pat! Rusty!" he yelled and listened. Silence over his burning ears. He ran further up the stair into the living room and tripped over something huge, solid, and strangely soft.

"Chinga su-"

He fell with a crash into what could have only been the stereo on the table, cracked his side on something sharp, and hit his head on what he thought was the TV. In a moment, he was sure for as he he moved to get up, a tiny piece of glass cut his cheekbone, close to his eye. He pulled to one knee and waited until he could breath.

"Felipe! Stretch!"

The silence was now alive. His heart refused to stop thudding, painfully tearing away from his chest.

"Herramiatas!!"

The siren of the police cruiser was now on his street. Through the kitchen, he climbed the last set of half stairs toward the first door on the right. Flinging it open he hit the light switch and swore when the room remained black.

Outside the siren blared momentarily and was silenced mid-wail. He tripped and trodged throught he debris in the room. He finally slapped the knuckles of his right hand into something metal and sharp. He winced and yelped, using his other hand to reach out and grab the metal object. He felt through it with both hands and felt his heart vaporize. They drawers were empty. The tools were gone.

The police officer yelled up the stairs for Manny. They heard no response save one strangled cry.

"I assure you, Mr. Garcia, if we hear anything, we will call you." the officer said.

He then nodded in Kelly's direction and walked down the half stairs to the shop.

Kelly handed Manny the glass of sweet tea she had been making and sat beside Manny, placing her hand on his knee.

He didn't seem to notice. His face was blank and maybe a little puffy around the eyes. But, his stare was murderous. He stared, eyes boring into the wall, as if trying to set it ablaze with thought alone.

"Manny?"

He turned to her and thankfully, his eyes turned soft.

"I'm sorry, but, I need to go home. You . . . can come with me. You don't have to stay here." she slid her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, he didn't speak.

"No. I . . . in case they come back . . ." he muttered and turned away. She nodded and stood, grabbing her coat from the back of the couch. She looked about. Everything Manny owned seemed to be on the floor or strewn across something else that lay on the floor. The TV and stereo had been picked up and moved, but they looked as sad and rejected as Manny, lying in the corner in a busted pile. Fixit had been one of the only things untouched by the madness. He now rolled about the kitchen, quietly. Kelly walked over and knelt beside him, patting the toaster that made up his body.

"You want to come with me for tonight, boy? Let Manny be alone for a bit?" she looked at Manny sidelong from where she was kneeling and he stared a moment at his dog before nodding and turning away. Kelly grabbed Fixit's leash, which hung from the microwave door, and began to leave. As she walked passed Manny, she stopped and leaned in to him. She kissed him gently on the forehead, holding her lips on his skin for a moment or two. Then, she was gone.

Manny sat in silence, his tea forgotten. He heard the sound of Kelly shutting the shop door, knowing she would lock it and set the alarm. All around him, the silence was thick and suffocating. His throat began to close and his face screwed. A long, animal-like cry burst from his chest. His tools. His children. Stolen in the night.


	6. A Shock and A Promise

For a moment, Kelly could not understand who the heck would be knocking on her door at three in the morning. Especially after-

And it all came back. Fluffy dripping and mewling, the screaming sirens, the serious faces of the police, and Manny's eyes. Wounded and full of dull rage.

Leonard.

She tied her robe's drawstring as her feet whispered down the stairs. Like most residents of her street, she lived above the shop level. It was not above her shop, however, as the apartment there was full of her store's stock. She could hear the rain now and as soon as she did, lightening flashed and thunder grumbled and cracked.

Jesus, it's pouring, she thought as she neared the door. She fumbled with the lock an impossibly long moment before opening it. Spray hit her face and wind invaded her robe and crawled over her skin.

It was Manny. Rain poured over him and wind blew his clothes like flags. But the look on his face. For a moment, Kelly was almost sure the real storm was inside him, the rain were his rushing tears, the thunder and lightning were his anger and pain exploding from his very mind.

"Kelly." He moaned.

She felt frozen, solid. She felt herself shake as she tried to pry her arms apart.

He took a tiny step forward. It was all Kelly needed to break her shameful paralysis. She grabbed him and pulled him into the tiny foyer, slamming the door with one foot.

"What happened, Manny? What-"she began. His face, the face of a man haunted by demons, stopped her. For a moment he only stood silently. Then his face cracked and he grabbed her. He started to weep, quietly.

"Come up stairs."

He followed her.

When he sat at her kitchen table, he finally seemed to notice his own dripping.

"I'm all wet . . ."

She shook her head and left the kitchen. When she returned, she handed him to large fluffy towels. She laid one across his shoulders and the other in his lap. Before she sat, she bumped the thermostat up a few degrees. She heard the furnace growl into life. She sat across from him and took his damp, icy hand.

"Its okay, Manny. Are you okay?"

He shook his head.

She waited for more, but he just sat there, staring at the floor.

"Manny?"

"It was him. He . . . left a note. In my bathroom. I didn't see it until I went to change my clothes. It was stuck to the mirror . . ."

He slipped his hand into his vest and pulled out a piece of printer paper. It was soggy around its folded edges, but otherwise intact. He slid it onto the table. She reach to pick it up and unfold it, but before she could, Manny's hand slapped over it. The suddenness of it popped a squeak from her throat. She looked at Manny, surprise and maybe a bit of fear in her eyes.

"Before you read it. There . . . I have to tell you." He paused. She waited. "Tonight, when I told you about Turner-"His voice cracked and he was silent another moment or two. "When I told you about Turner, you asked me to tell you the story. I was going to, one day. Soon. And I was going to tell you almost the whole truth."

She watched his face as his eyes settled into hers for the first time since their drink at the bar.

"Do you understand that, Kelly? I was going to tell you ALMOST the whole truth. There are parts . . . things I would never tell anyone. Ever. They were things I was sure I would take to the grave. I swore to myself, I would. But this-"

He lifted his hand and inch or so off the paper. Though Kelly made no move to take it, his hand stayed above it, fingers bent to claws and shaking.

He looked into her eyes again.

"It's a long story, Kelly, and it's a bad story. But, you are the only person I could ever trust with even the good parts. Will you listen?"

"Of course." No hesitation.

"Then you have to promise."

"Promise what?"

His eyes were scorching her retinas. She felt nerves tightening and freezing.

"When I finish my story, you may never feel the same about me. We may never . . . be friends again. But, even if that happens, even if you never want to see me again, you have to promise to help me anyway. Help me find the tools. No matter what."

"I promise Manny, but I don't understand. Why would I- Why . . . I promise."

His stone face did not move, his eyes did not waver. She was beginning to feel her nerves shutting down and her stomach tighten. She was about to speak, about to ask if he had even heard her when he began to speak.

Subject B1 woke up and groaned. As he straighten up and looked about him, he could smell the electricity. He could not hear the screams with his sensory equipment, but deep in his mind, the walls were shaking with Subject B2's agony. B1 began to shout himself.

"Stop! Stop it! You're killing him. Goddamn it, you're KILLING him!"

The man with the white coat, clipboard and Elvis slick hair, stared at B1. He lifted is hand to his lapel and spoke into the tiny clip microphone. His face was as blank and clinical as the white walls around him but his voice squeaked with excitement.

"Stop, Delaney, stop!"

The agony in B1's brain slowed and fell to a dull ache. Tears began to seep from his eyes.

"Incredible. The subject is exhibiting not only emotion but producing actual tears. Jesus. Doctor? Should I take samples?"

The air around B1 crackled and from the speaker set high up the wall behind the man in the white coat, a deep, nasally voice burst into the room.

"Negative, Spanner. Stick your hand in that cage and you'll end up with more holes than a cell phone contract again."

"Yes, Doctor." Spanner said, obviously disappointed.

The speaker spoke again.

"Patience, Spanner. All in good time."

Spanner narrowed his eyes at B1. He mouthed a few words.

B1 read his lips just fine.

Later. You and me.

Pain ripped through him. He didn't feel himself screaming, didn't feel the convulsions that ripped through him. All he could feel was the heat and the screaming of every nerve.

"Stop, Delaney, stop."

The mousy woman with coke bottle glasses flipped the switch. Subject B2 fell to the floor of the observation cage, eyes turning up.

"Passed out." She murmured and scribbled a note onto her clipboard. "80 milliamps. Doctor?"

A moment passed.

"Yes, Delaney. Throw him back in his cage for now and head up to Level 8. Subject B4 is about to come on line.

Delaney nearly dropped her clipboard in her excitement. She had been working with Doctor Haber for nearly a year now and was sure she had seen more in that year than most researchers saw in their entire career. However, she hadn't seen the subject set A (all failures, no actual intelligence, no signs of sentient behavior, not missing a thing there) and more importantly, she had not been allowed to see B1 or B2 come online. But now, the Doctor was warming up to her. At least as much as he could warm up. Spanner had seen both subjects come online, had been second in command at B1's activation. But, Spanner was no more than an educated idiot as far as Delaney was concerned. B1 had woke up fighting and put three holes through his left hand before it could be restrained. At B2's activation, Spanner was only allowed to observe.

"And still fucked up." She whispered, a smile etching into her cheeks. She slipped her hand into the thick rubber glove. She checked to make sure B2 was still unconscious. His eyes were closed, but it was muttering under its breath and shaking. She felt the familiar revulsion, the same chill, as ever time she had ever had to touch one of the subjects. She grabbed Subject B2 around the middle and nearly retched when its eyes came open.

"Please . . ." it croaked at her.

She felt her gorge rise. She flung B2 into its cage and gave a deep shudder. Retched things. She grabbed the cage handle and opened the door to the Testing Room. She hurried down the hallway, feeling her hackles jump and jitter ever time B2 rolled in its cage and moaned.

She finally reached the door labeled VIP PERSONNEL ONLY. She slid her ID through the scanner and waited for the third beep. When the soft tone sounded, she opened the door.

Spanner stood in front of B1's cage. B1, however, was looking straight at Delaney.

"You'll both pay for this. Ever bit."

Its voice was not the mewling, pleading whisper of B2. It was strong, convicted. Sure.

She slid B2's cage into its locking shelf and a deeper shiver went through her.

"Shut it, B1 or I'll turn on the panic alarm.

B1 flinched at the sound of B2's whimper, but did not move.

"Ever bit."

Spanner's wicked grin spread across his face. He brushed his hand over the glossy red button on the wall beside him.

"Enough, Spanner. The Doctor wants you on Level 12."

He sneered at her, but finally left. Delaney turned to B1. She felt something alien in her guts bubble and tickle her heart.

"If you keep it up, he'll hurt you, B1."

B1 turned to her. His eyes never changed. They bored into her skull.

"Ever bit, Delaney. Starting with you."

Her mouth dropped open and the pity she did not recognize dried up.

"Quiet, B1. I'll bring back Spanner." She threatened, backing toward the door without the slightest idea she was doing it. It had said her name. Dear God, it KNEW her.

The B1 smiled. It was a smile that made Spanner's look like a sleepy child's grin. Evil intent dripped from its voice.

"Yeah, you first."

She fled from the room.

The lights automatically clicked off. Only the soft glow of the floor lights remained.

There was only silence for several minutes, only broken by the occasional moan by B2.

"Hey. You okay?"

"It hurt."

"I know. Did you see it?"

"Level 11. I think."

"Good enough. Go to sleep."

"I'm scared."

A pause.

"Me too."


	7. Genesis In the Beginning

"I was working for my Uncle, back in Matte Mesa. He was always traveling, so I ran the site when he was gone. It was good work, great work for a guy with no family. I mean, I lived with my sister and she had just had Pepe, but that was HER family. I was just living there until I found something else.

It was nearly winter and I was sure it would be a good one. We had just picked up three new jobs in Georgia and I was going to get them. I was so excited. When, I left that night, I was the one to lock up. I couldn't stop singing. I remember that. I sang the whole way to the liquor store. I was going to take a case of Tecate home and celebrate with my yerno, my brother-in-law. That was when I saw the car come around the corner and hit the old man. And I saw the dog."

B1 could feel B3 wake up. He sent as much calm as he could. He felt B2 join him.

Not long now, brothers.

B4 came into life screaming as any infant would. She felt her body for the first time and screamed. It was cold. She was hungry. And the light. It burned her eyes and drew more screams from her.

"-the first time we brought one back from the infantile stage. B3 was teen aged, I believe. Delaney?"

"Age 12, sir."

"Right. But, B3 was still resistant to the training. In fact, more resistant than 1 or 2. I can only imagine it was hormones."

There was a general murmur of amused, academic laughter.

"I believe now, that with such an underdeveloped state of mind, B4 will pick up the training easily."

"But, Doctor Haber. Would such a clinical setting not border on the Forbidden Experiment parameters. I'm not trying to broach a nurture-nature discussion, but are they not human intelligences? Would it not require, I don't know . . . "an upbringing" for lack of a better term."

B4 had stopped screaming and was looking about the room. She knew what people were. She knew which were male and female. She knew what the coats meant. But, she didn't know WHY she knew it. And she did not have a reason to care. She whimpered. Blurry thoughts of warm hands and warm milk fogged her mind.

The voice answered, colder in tone.

"It is a very good point, Dr. McKee. But, I believe the pre-programmed knowledge and implanted memories will negate the need to RAISE it. And let us remember, after all, that these are not actual human personalities, but a mixture of different identities contructed from dead human brains and a computer, to be brutishly simple. I appreciate a mind that thinks outside the proverbial box, but let's not go too far here folks. These are not people. They are constructs. We must remain humane as researchers, but we must not let emotion play any part of this."

B4 knew the words he spoke. She understood them. She was even beginning to understand that SHE was the thing the voice spoke about. But, she did not care. She wanted warm hands and warm milk. She began to cry again.

"Delaney. I believe we have all the data we need. Please take Subject B4 to the Life Support room and run all the tests."

B4 now felt the floor shift beneath her and a moment of weightless movement caused her to scream in fear. The world shook.

"Hush. Just shut up."

He felt her. She mind bloomed into his mind like a rose made of soft, ashy fog. He gasped. If the scientists raised one hundred others just like him, B1 would never understand or even acclimate to the feeling of the first moment of life of another. His vison blurred and thoughts of warm hands and warm milk chiked his thoughts. He gurgled and tried to concentrate.

"Calm down, little one." He could not hear himself speak, he was too deep in the overwhelming power of this one's first moments of existence.

She can't feel us, brother.

It was B3.

She is still in the testing room. Life . . . Support.

"She's scared."

Now, as the power of B4 mind began to calm, B1 could hear B2 speak.

"She's terrified. And lonely."

B1 felt his heart thump painfully and a sizzling tingle rip through his brain.

"NO NO NO!" B2 screamed. "She's a baby! A baby, god, a baby!"

He was screaming but the pain had subsided even as it started.

"Brother! Calm down. Breathe. I think it was just a test. Be calm." B1 said.

He groped for more words of comfort, a word or two of action. He found none.

Who are you? A voice broke into the three's mental channel.

We are your brother's little one. Can you feel us?

A pause. The reply was shaky.

Yes. But the world is moving down, I'm sinking.

Elevator, B3 decided.

You are coming to us now, little one. Don't be frightened. And whatever you do, do not speak to the humans.

Don't leave me!

The scream was as much a physical pain as a mental one.

We will not leave you, little sister.

B2 was thought-speaking as gently as only he could.

We cannot leave you. If you can feel us inside, we are with you. But, you must not speak to the humans. They must not know we can hear each other. They know too much already. Don't be afraid.

They hurt you, B4's whimper was accusing, but not harsh. B1 heard B2 shiver, clattering his turn-bolt.

Yes, they hurt me, but they only hurt me. You are young and they do not know you. They will not hurt you because they will not risk injuring you. Just remember to be silent and wait.

B1 could feel her mind closing in on them. With any luck she would be placed in the room with them.

B3's voice piped into his and he knew that B3 was speaking directly to him. The words would bypass B2 and B4's mind, thought they would know that one was speaking to the other. Covering his words, however, was fine for now.

They probably will put her with you. And, I'm sure that when I start responding to them, they will relocate me. I'm getting a little tired of the darkness. Soon, brother, very soon. We will be together again.

And then we will escape, B1 thought, though he only thought it to himself.


End file.
